A new life alone
by typing away
Summary: When Saphira dies, will Eragon be able to rebuild his shattered life, or will someone help him do it?
1. Chapter 1

Skin torn from skin, skin wretched from muscle, muscles spilt open, he lay there. His skin a crumbled and torn blanket draped over cut flesh. His broken wrists were tied to a great rock while his legs were bound. His right knee was crudely sawn into, the serrated edge stopping halfway through the bone. Pain nestled deep into his mind, a dark replacement to the part of him torn away. Blood oozed down the cold rock staining it dark red.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

The jagged lightning rushed up into his brain. His eyes slipped open in shock and, before he could scream, torrents of blood poured into his mouth and nose.

The bucket empty, his captors threw it away to be refilled while the whip was readied again.

There, hidden, in the clenched hand, something glinted in the horrendous sunlight.

* * *

At first, no words were exchanged. Nasuada, clothed in pure white silk, lined delicately with gold was shocked. Blodhgarm, a rugged and bloodstained dark cloak thrown around his shoulders, was filled with sadness incomprehensible, defeated. Utter dismay exploded in her mind until her shoulders slumped and she sighed.

"Where is Eragon?"

That this, Blodhgarm flinched and swayed, but managed to answer the question and describe the rider's situation in one word.

"Lost"

Again, the sadness swirled up to choke her, but she managed to suppress it. Eragon was lost. Plan, unbidden and exciting, blossomed in her mind. A flurry and movement and confusion attraction her attention and moments later Arya burst into the hall, followed by the remainder of the elves that left with Eragon. She must have touched the other elf's mind for all of a sudden she became rigid, before sliding down against the wall and pulling her knees up to her chest, curling herself up in agony.

In a few moments, the wedding celebrations were cancelled and an emergency meeting held in Nasuada's private quarters, such alarming news should never be allowed to disperse across the new empire. Orrin's hand was on his goblet, Roran's head was buried in his calloused hands, the Urgal ambassador's hand was clenched with an expression of distaste on his face and Arya's hand were twisted together under the chin of an impassive face. The head of the human spell casters, Remus, a very old man, with ancient wrinkles all across his body, leaned back on his heavy chair, and mulled over the news. Murtagh stood behind Nasuada, a comforting presence and the 11 elves that went with Eragon leaned sadly against the walls.

Finally, Arya spoke.

"I-"

Her voice trembled, but she caught herself, rallied her mentality and continued smoothly.

"I will go and bring him back, it would not be appropriate for such a hero to be left to rot outside his home, nor should it be that people pay their respects to his memory without his body".

* * *

The clouds glided across the night sky as the rough waves thrashed around in the dark ocean. The crests, frothing in anger, roared as they crashed down. The moon hung precariously in the expanse of black clouds, its silverly light struggled down through the darkness, leaving anything in the raging oceans invisible. The rain poured down like never ending tears and lightning streaked furiously down into the water.

It was winter and the oppressively cold air bit into his skin and a harsh fog escaped his mouth when he breathed out. The lashing rain stung his pale face and the persistent thunder rang in his sensitive ears like someone had driven a spear into his eardrums. He was being tossed about, a tiny fish against a terrible sea. The sea-water gnawed into his wounds and the salt piled into his flesh. His eyes were swollen shut from the prolonged trial with the stinging water and his throat burned from the salt in his stomach, which frequently clenched in pain. The sea water bit in his bloody mouth and his wounds clenched in pain so bitter he couldn't see, even with his eyes open. One hand was permanently closed and a blue glint sparkled from the object he held: a memory of happiness in an omnipresent darkness.

Everything was dark, even all the memories. They all swirled and twirled around him, dancing about mockingly. And mockingly they called out to him. Such jeers ravaged his mind and clawed at his spirit.

_It was autumn, the radiant sun glided into the horizon as the crisp and golden leaves drifted to the ground while he and his dragon sat, side by side, overlooking the expanse of the growing city. Dragons sailed under the sun while their scales caught the light in a memorising and beautiful way._

"_We have done so much",_

_The was a short pause, before she spoke,_

"_We could lose it all as quickly as the old order did"._

"_You've been in a pessimist all week, we been cautious since we have arrived here, there is no reason for your feeling of foreboding"._

_She, turned, till his being was reflected in the pupil of her massive eye, and whispered in his mind._

"_If...if I die, and the order we have nurtured...needs a leader, promise me that you will stay... at least until they reach another age of prosperity"._

In a state of utter anguish and desolation, Eragon screamed. Saphira was gone and he was forced to stay. Finally, his wretched body and soul could take no more pain, he was enveloped in silent darkness, trapped in his lonely peace.

It was night when he awoke. The moon sent its gentle light down, on the bare beachhead. The water had evened out to a repetitive cycle with a slow wind brushing past his scarred face. He tried to stand but he immediately, painfully, collapsed into a crumpled heap. Self-loathing crept into his mind and he crawled, pitifully slowly, to the water to gaze at his reflection.

A shriek shattered the midnight silence. Suddenly still, Eragon waited. There was a rustle, and a familiar shape flapped upwards. Fear grasping his mind as memories of torturous treacheries flew in front of his eyes:

_A sharp whistle sliced through the air._

_The jagged lightning rushed-_

Eragon blinked and watched as the owl soared away. Unable to stand the instability of his own mind, he curled into himself, tears, at last, flowing down his uneven cheeks as he remembered the life he had experienced, before.

A cool hand came to rest against his hot face. Startled, he flinched away, but another gentle hand grasped the other side of his face and slowly brought Eragon to look up.

Deep emerald bore into his pained self as he recognised it was Arya gazing, concerned, at his helpless form. He spoke first.

"Are they safe?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own the Inheritance Cycle**

"The riders are alive, Eragon", soothed Arya, and, before he could utter another question, she delicately placed two fingers on his lips.

Both arms gently lifted him up and bore him like a babe to the flickering campfire. Then laying him down in a cradle of soft sand, she whispered at him to rest. Exhaustion creeping into his mind, he closed his eyes.

_The setting sun bathed the sky a vivid blood red, appropriately, as the sticky, horrendous, powerful stench clung to his nostrils. Blindfolded with thorns, he could only listen as desperate roars echoed painfully in his eardrums, followed by a stabbing pain in his corresponding body part, and a splatter of what he knew was dragon blood. Shrieks of laughter followed._

_There was no hope now, no happy dreams and no pleasant wishes. No memories of friendship could be conjured, no legends of success, nothing. There was only the never ending pain, of both body and soul. He could sense that she was close, but he could not see her. He could feel her presence, but he could not reach and touch her, comfort her._

_His right arm, his good arm, was forced straight and something searing, sticky, was pouring, slowly, slowly across the top his arm. It boiled and it ate into his flesh, burning. The scorching liquid crawled around, encompassing his whole arm. His skin was agonizingly bubbling off his muscle. He screamed and she roared._

His eyes tore violently open and his chest thumped as his body viciously contorted awake, sweat drenching his exhausted body.

"Saphira!"

They had endured hell together, in the hope of together making it through but he had failed and he was left, so, so, alone.

He was tired, exhaustion had seeped into the marrow of his bones, rendering him for dazed a moment. It felt impossible that he would even wake up fully rejuvenated again. The fatigue itself was incredibly heavy but combined with the feelings of loss and mistreatment, Eragon felt immense pain.

He was being held. Cool hands were locked around his wrists and were pinning his flailing arms to his damaged sides. Arya was looking down on him, green eyes bright and streaks of tears down her smooth cheeks.

A whisper: "I am so sorry."

"You were far too late," he replied just as quietly. It was neither an accusation nor a compliant.

"You were not at fault"

, and then, "I failed her."

Lithe arms reached around his back and elevated him into her tender embrace. His forehead was nudged onto her shoulder while she whispered comforts into his ear.

"You are not a failure Eragon, you did all you could to save her",

"I did nothing to save her",

"You tried your best".

"She still…they…"

Gusts were starting to pick up around the beach, blowing tiny sandstorms across the barren land, and then, as quickly as they had formed, they dissipated. Salty air blew into their embrace, causing his head to suddenly burn and his vision to flicker between reality and memories of utter terror. Sensing his obvious distress, Arya tightened her arms around him and quietly called out to him. At the horizon, the sun peeked above the tumultuous seas, spraying the white beach with a thin ray of light and besides them, Firnen began to wake, his brilliant scales sparkling in the morning light, just like, exactly like, when _she _woke.

_Around him sapphire scales flipped and flopped in the wind, propelled by the gales of misery. They were tattered and rough; some had jagged edges and most had screeching white scratch marks on them. Many were bathed in either black or red blood and they danced around him, glinting in the sunlight._

Releasing a shaky sigh, though through his dry throat, it sounded more like groan of pain, he unsteadily stood. He would have crumpled immediately, if not for Arya's quick and steady hands, which guided his clenched left hand over her shoulder as he limped, with her support to Firnen's waiting back.

The green dragon eyed Eragon for a moment, concern and empathy clear in his iris, he had lost his mate after all. Then, he rubbed Eragon shrivelled arm with his snout and the elf felt a surge of energy enter him, and for an instant his thought he had regained use of his right arm. Relief blossomed in is mind as the exhaustion ebbed and faded away. Grateful, he gave a brief, hesitant, forced smile and stroked the scales on the top of his head.

With him in Arya's secure grasp, she vaulted onto the tall saddle on Firnen's back. Instantly, the wind roared to life around them as Firnen flapped his huge wings and they slowly gained altitude. Looking out, from behind Arya's shoulder, he saw a shadowy shape under the water.

Suddenly, a huge, gaping, maw appeared from the water, rocketing towards them, the world spun and twisted as Firnen rolled and swerved away. Seawater erupted behind them as the creature crashed back into the water, raining frigid droplets into their backs. The smell and feel intoxicated Eragon with memories and he drifted away from reality before Arya could ground his mind.

_He was in the dark, drowning in the vast ocean. Lightning streaked across the night sky and he winced as the thunder clapped in his ears. There was nothing, nothing, save the flashes of lightning that lit up the dark clouds and the fierce rain. There was nothing save the rough waves that crashed over his head. They frothed in anger at the crest while the vast body bore down upon him like a dragon._

Just like the dragon he lost.

"Eragon!"

Drunk with tortuous memories, Eragon refused to open his eyes. Pain was rooted firmly in the core of his being, as eternal as his lifespan. The pain of being alone wrapped his heart with thin wire, one tug of former happenings and pain would bulge in his mind and body.

Where was he again?

Forcing his eyes open, he gasped for air as the exhaustion he dreaded settled back into his limbs.

"Eragon?"

He released a sigh of relief as his surroundings swam back into existence.

"Arya."

"Tell me what happened Eragon, what they did to you." When he didn't respond, she tentatively, quietly, asked, "do you trust me?"

He rebuked her question. "Do you trust me?"

Instantly, he regretted snapping at her. Her hesitation made his heart drop and a brief spasm of pain ran across the length of his body that Arya could not have missed. With some shock, he realised that he was hugging her around the stomach, guilt instantly set in and he disengaged his arms.

Faster that he could blink, her hand had his wrist in an iron grip. Turning around, she firmly grasped his chin and brought it down. Leaning in, she whispered her true name. It was different to the one he heard, almost twenty years ago, but her devotion to duty, both as a rider and as a Queen, had not changed. On the other hand, he could hear her distaste at her elven post and difficult isolation from the other riders. In her name was her love for Firnen and, to his surprise, a strong relationship with him, he could not understand the nature of the connection, so he deduced neither could she. The repercussions of Gilead had yet to leave her, he doubted they ever would, but he was glad to hear that she had accepted and overcame Faolin's death.

"I trust you Eragon."

Another pang of guilt hit him. He did not know his own true name. There was nothing he could give her in return. Now that he was alone, Arya was the one he trusted most. Even so, he did not wish to share his ugly past with her, at least not until he had reconciled himself with his past, unless…

"What happened?" Arya murmured. While she did not seem concerned about his lack of an appropriate response, he knew that some apprehension about his reply was plaguing her mind.

Hesitantly gesturing for her to give him hand, he spoke, he placed his left hand, still clenched around its unseen gem, over her palm. He in kind murmured: "Arya." Slowly, expression furrowing in pain, he opened his hand above her silvery palm and the scale gently floated down into her possession. "Keep it safe," he whispered as he reluctantly removed his hand. "I trust you."

Its edge was jagged down one side, with white streaks running from end to end. The bottom was stained with blood, giving the scale a false colour. However, in a few small, lonely places, the familiar sapphire still shone and glinted in the sunlight.

Arya closed her hand around it and held it against her heart, releasing a shaky breath. "I will keep it safe." Realising his unwillingness to talk, she spoke softly, "Please, do not keep your pains to yourself, I do not desire you to experience what I did."

"I promise I will not."

In another week, they would reach the mainland.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks you to all the reviewers. I do not own the inheritance cycle.**

_His arm was burning, aflame with intense pain as Saphira roared and jerked her right foreleg in unison. Eragon was grateful for her support, their joined minds aided the effort of keeping their sanity. He breathed in and he breathed out. Searing, white, hot, burning pain! His voice was shattered long ago, crying out in agony had consecutively warped his voice into a hideous reminder of his ordeal, an everlasting accent of pain. His eyesight flashed red and his eyelids dribbled blood as the thorns were ripped away. Boiling honey was running through the contours of exposed muscle and dripping off his arm. A language of clicks erupted around him and a faint buzz wafted into his ears. He rattled in a breath and let his head fall back. "Saphira?"_

_An exhausted whisper in an equally tired mind: "Yes little one?"_

_Despite the horrid situation, he smiled and, the happiness hopped over their link and he saw a toothy grin. "You____are-_

_The torrent of pain started. Wasps, bees, ants, every stinging insect descended upon the sweet prize. When it was finally over, Eragon had forgotten what he was going to say._

He never had a chance to tell her he remembered.

They neared the east coast of the mainland, as expected, in a week. In was day, but the sun was hidden behind melancholy clouds, that crept across the darkened sky. The chatter of the birds was silent and replaced by frightened calls that pierced the choppy waves like arrows of fear.

The moment Firnen landed on the beach, Eragon and Arya were tossed out of their saddle. Immediately, the riders and Murtagh blinked into existence, bound as were the eleven elves and Lord Dauthr and his company of elves, someone must have used a spell to hide them until the company arrived ashore.

Without Arya's support, Eragon immediately crumpled in a heap of skin and bones, like a corpse. Unblinking, he saw her dragged away, bound and gagged as the other riders were. Firnen roared in rage but was quickly silenced, threatened with his rider's death.

Tearing open her hand, the man mocked, "What is this?"

"Nothing"

"Silence, _Queen_!"

He held it aloft, so the whole assembly could see the blue sparkle that the scale emitted, seemingly independent of any light source. He could see the fear in Arya's eyes and hear the gasps of surprise from the riders, coupled with sighs of defeat. Eragon suppressed his agonizing apprehension and held his breath, his deathly reflection, blurry and vague, on the reflective surface. "Jierda!" He sucked in a quiet breath. Nothing happened, save an unnoticeable slump of Eragon's shoulders as he lay, ignored. The old man narrowed his eyes and glared at the bound group. He spoke the Word, and followed its shiver of power with a louder, clearer "Jierda!"

Instantly, Eragon felt the winds of time liquefy into slow syrup. The scale shivered and rocked. A pale sliver began to run a jagged line, from the centre, following the screeching white marks towards the rough edges. For the last instant, Eragon saw his petrified reflection fracture as the tiny fissures began to interconnect into a sinister network. A tiny tremble preceded the inevitable loud _crack_. Brilliant splinters of blue violently parted and the scale shattered.

Arya let out a silent cry of agony and Eragon's face hit the beach with a soft _thud._

_The worst thing about the moment Saphira died, was not the frantic roars that erupted from her bloody maw, though that tore his eardrums asunder, it was not the vicious amount of steaming blood that spewed from her belly, though that splinter of memory would haunt his mind for weeks, it was not even the acidy stench of death, though it would remain in his nostrils throughout his lifespan. It was the dread that clung to him, throughout the last minutes of her life, to feel, in his heart and soul, the fading, the tortuous fading, failing, losing the struggle, the fading of her soul and his happiness. She was in too much pain to say goodbye, and frankly, so was he._

He had wanted to tell her _so _much, but fate cruel sense of humour took her away and he was left utterly silent.

Fuelled by pain and inspired by fiery anger, Eragon scrambled with one leg and one arm, up the beach. Remus's back was turned; face triumphant in his opponent's faces of misery. Within seconds, Eragon, strong left arm was around his neck; there would be no mercy...

"_Why did you let Sloan live?" Eragon and Saphira were sitting side by side, rider and dragon, on lush green grass, discussing the motives of a particularly unpleasant but nonetheless, according to the rider, necessary, action._

"_It would have been wrong to have left the wretched man to die; there was chance that he might change. I clung to that hope as I endured part of the journey back with him. We embody hope, do we not, a life without that tyrant?" The radiant sun glided across the cloudless morning._

_Saphira remained quiet for a while, and then said, "I am glad to be your dragon, Eragon"._

"_I am honoured to be your rider, Saphira"._

_Together they watched as the breeze twirled around the blades of grass and the birds glided in the warm air. Together, as they were meant to be._

As they would never be again. Eragon was alone, there would be no Saphira in his life, not anymore. He was alone. Saphira was dead, her empty body withered to crushed and broken bone, while her flesh, fed to monsters, nothing would bring her back. No hope would do it, no dream, Eragon was alone. The ache in his chest burst forth and engulfed him it a cold, painful embrace. Feeling rushed away from his limbs and his heart tightened in one more thump as his head throbbed. He looked up into the tilting clouds and waited, wished, for the tide of death to wash him away.

**I don't think I got this chapter as right as I wanted it to be. Anyways, next chapter will be considerably more positive and with hopefully be the last. Review please.**


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own the inheritance cycle. This is NOT the last chapter, the story decided against it. I think this will be finished by chapter 6 ish**

Eragon was fully asleep for the first time in months, his mind finally free as dreams stormed across his imagined senses.

His mind, utter darkness, inky black, struggled for conscious thought as taunting memories flittered before his closed eyes, a hypnotising spiral of lost hope and happiness. He saw Garrow, bleeding and old, dying, Brom, weak and haggard, dying, Omoris, frail and aged, dying, and Saphira, his beloved Saphira, wreaked and torn apart, dying, parting without him. Why hadn't he gone with her?

He couldn't, he had promised, promised to live a life without her.

His eyelids flicked open as a tear escaped and slid down his cheek. He was lying on a soft, elven bed with a white thin blanket draped lightly over his thin frame. Matching in hue but opposed in brilliance was his hideously pale complexion. His brown eyes had lost its gentleness long ago, replaced with a rough colour like gnarled bark. Black scabs stood out on his white face. His right limb was much thinner than his left; millimetres of muscle separated the bone and the pallid skin. He would never be able wield a sword with that hand. Dark scars streaked his body, left to right, top to bottom, down to his legs, one of which was bandaged; he would never be able to run properly either.

The bright noon sun bathed the room in golden light, brilliant rays reflecting off specks of dust. There was a platter of fruit, ripe and sweet beside his bed. His throat was healed, it no longer felt raw and speech was not going to be painful anymore. Blood had ceased to ooze out of stubborn wounds and the chronic pain of torture had disappeared from his body. His head no longer spun with exhaustion and he could move without feeling lead weights on his limbs. The purple bruises had receded to spots of discoloured skin. Even breathing did not hurt and memories of former hurts had seemingly retreated into his dreams. Healed, he could focus on his surroundings. The walls were ornately decorated, carvings of dragons and riders had been sung out of the wood, thin strips of gold lined the carvings and were woven into the artworks like a liquid; he had been here before…he was in the tree of the Lead Rider, in the capital of the elves, in his homeland, healed.

And yet, still, the ache had no withdrawn, nor diminished. It still hurt, it still hurt a lot. His brow furrowed in pain while a sigh of resignation was breathed into the air, a melancholy tune in every breath. This song of loss, he would only sing alone.

"Eragon, are you feeling well?"

He jolted, hand whipping to his empty side for his sword, for anything to fight with. Vivid scabs reopened as he twisted his back and twisted back again in shock. A cry of agony leapt to his mouth, before he snapped his teeth shut and clenched his teeth in pain. Cool hands firmly griped his shoulders, holding him still as he briefly writhed around. Blood started to flow out, staining clean covers. He gasped and choked as the air burned down his throat and into his lungs; he bit down a whimper, narrow teeth stabbed into his lip and he tasted salt in his mouth. Recollections of despair blanketed his mind and forced him into a dazed and draining moment.

"Waise heil," Arya's firm voice cut through his seizure of pain and gave Eragon the strength to silently struggle in a breath as his skin and muscle stitched itself together. When he breathed out, his strength rushed away and he involuntarily closed his eyes. Exhausted and defeated, he let thought and control escape as his mind was reclaimed by sleep.

_He had been strong as steel, at first. They were neither strangers to pain nor cowards to death. They had been proven brave and courageous; they bore this with no regrets, the safety of their charge foremost on their mind. He did not cry out when they whipped him, she did not flinch when they pierced her side. They had each other to rely on. A hope of a better future empowered them, and this they would bear to cause its fruition. _

_A miserable drizzle descended upon them, then, deafening rain. Lightning and the echoing thunder next and, the hissing of icy wind. Hope runs out, happiness slips away, but they had still had one another, still._

It was raining; angry clouds smothered the night sky and lashed the soft earth with harsh droplets. He shivered despite the wards that protected him from the cold, he could feel it, the pelting, the impacts of millions, the freezing wind. He felt it as he felt it every night. Finally, the bright flash of lightning lit up the dark clouds, for a instant, as did another, and, another. The thunder, he heard not but he imagined the horrible _crack _and the eternal ringing that followed in his ears.

Lightning flashed again. He was still feeling, imagining, frightened. Thunder roared in the rain and Eragon turned onto his side, away the gloomy world and caught sight of, on a lonely chair against the wall, watching him, Arya.

Arya? What was she doing here? Why hadn't she left? Had she left and come back?

"I apologise for startling you earlier, Eragon, it was not my intention to cause you harm." She tried to hide it, but her voice betrayed her fatigue.

"Nay, I should apologise for being so difficult to my saviour, my recollections of…unpleasant things… and myself alone are to blame, I am deep in your debt." Eragon hoped she would not prod such recollections out of him. He was relieved when she didn't.

"Guilt and debts are ignored between friends as close as we," spoke Arya, this time in the ancient language to reassure him. "You should rest further; our healers could only do so much."

Sleep: the land were his nightmares lurked, he didn't want to return and he was sure it wouldn't give him the rest he wished for. "You seem tired, perhaps you should retire to your chambers and rest, I can manage myself well enough."

"I do not need to just yet, and I would like to speak with you if you are feeling fine."

Eragon's mouth twitched upwards, "There is nothing wrong with me now, so do not feel restricted in your speech." They had rarely spoken with each other since she retrieved him from the rough seas and Eragon felt cheered by her company.

Arya returned a small smile which slightly loosened the chains of loss on his soul. "The riders and dragons plan to meet with you in the morning to discuss the path ahead, I will be there, as well as Murtagh. Nasuada will be in the capital as well, they have been married for three weeks." Arya paused and pushed back a lock of hair. "They will not be offended if you do not wish to attend, I will-"

"There is no need, I will be there, as long as no _personal _questions are asked." A smile fought its way to his lips as he continued, "Would you express my congratulations to my brother and sister in law, and my deep regrets on my failure to present gifts."

"You have my wo-"

"No!" Eragon fought to supress the emotions bubbling inside him. Arya looked at him with concern. He struggled to lower his voice, "No, please, do not promise anything to me." He groaned. "I have had enough of promises." He detested them now, because he was forced to bear his empty life due to one.

"Eragon." She was next to him, and had gently grasped his cold hand. "What happened?"

His eyes flicked away. He wasn't ready to tell her yet. He tried to turn away, but Arya careful not to alarm him again, trailed her fingers up his arm, across his shoulders and up his neck and brought them against the underside of his jaw, causing a barely noticeable pink to rise up to his cheeks. Diminished by her touch, he looked down, embarrassed. She comfortingly gripped his hand in response and slowly pushed back his head so he was forced to meet her gaze.

Her voice, below a whisper: "Show me"

He squirmed under her stare. He had tried to ignore it, ignore the pain, the hurt, the solitude. He had turned away as it ate into his soul, given up when it destroyed his thoughts, given up when it poisoned his heart. He hated thinking about their last seconds together, he couldn't bear its weight upon his fractured soul. He was breaking under his own loneliness. He refused to let the tears fall, or the screams of despair escape his throat. He wouldn't allow it. He would, he could, still, bottle it up inside himself. He would not break.

"You can't bear it alone, please, Eragon, let me help." Arya's voice

No, the memories, the memories would hurt her. He could not allow her to be tortured again. No, he would keep it from her. Saphira would want him to be strong._ Saphira…_

_Stabbed,_

"Saphira would not want you so depressed"

_Roaring,_

"I wouldn't want you to suffer on the same path I took"

_Bleeding,_

"You healed me Eragon, you allowed me to feel true happiness again."

_Fading,_

"Eragon?"

_Dead_

Eragon broke.

**Good? Bad? Failure? Let me know about your thought by leaving a review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**For those reading just this chapter, I've changed CH2 a bit, concerning Arya's true name, there is no "unknown love" for Eragon, just deep friendship.**

**I don't own the inheritance cycle.**

A wave of cold sweat broke through his skin; a tremor shuddered down his body; he griped the edge of the bed as his head throbbed and a cry of agony rushed out his mouth; all breath escaped him; all energy dissipated away, and then, it was gone and Eragon was…still.

"_Saphira!"_

_She lay motionless, the last of her blood dribbling out of the deep wound. Her lean forelegs were still, her head, with its maw slightly agape, was still. There was no rise, no fall in her chest, no blinking, no breathing. Eragon was silent, the wind and birds quietened instantly and stopped, the waves paused in their daily motions and the sparkle of ocean petered out to dull, depressing darkness._

"_Saphira…" His moan of grief sliced through the silence. But, in his mind, he could still feel her thoughts, her emotions. Her hearts of hearts was safely locked away, safe, they were still together._

Tears did not fall from his eyes, despair did not leave his lips, his limbs did not struggle, did not move, nothing. This would be his life, always empty, always painful, always…alone.

_The knife raked down on her flesh, gouging out huge chunks that slithered down her bloody scales and splattered onto the ground. His breath caught in his throat and his body refused to breathe. He dragged his eyes away and took a deep breath. He was too tired to twist his head and hoped, vainly, that he would have time to rest his thoughts and body._

_A lantern suddenly caught his attention. No, it was not a lantern. It bathed the area in a beautiful shade of blue, akin to the scales on her body. Thoughts of pain and anger emanated from the large gem and struck their capturer's minds, conquering their thoughts and tearing into their consciousness. Eragon smiled as Saphira drove many of those malicious kind away._

_But a few remained._

_They wore a crude, blotchy, purple cloth around their shoulders and a band of the same colour on their ugly beaks. Their mounts had golden rings on their claws which glowed whenever they screeched out commands._

_Those riding the monsters stiffened and one of them hissed and spoke, not in their usual tongue of clicks and rasps, but that which the Grey Ones laid down long ago._

_It whispered, its strength diminished by a minute amount, and Saphira's hearts of hearts shattered._

Eragon screamed, his mouth snapped open before the pain in his heart shot out of his mouth, drowning Arya's pleas. His back arched in pain and spasms gripped his weak body, tearing open scabs and sores, and ripping apart bandaged wounds. His arms overcame Arya's gentle grasp and reached out, trying to find his dragon.

_In the end, when his throat was too bloody to function and his manacles had sliced so deep into his wrists that he couldn't feel his hands and his vision was beginning to blur and spin, Eragon finally gave up, broken in body, broken in soul. Shattered, tears continued to leave his eyes even as death's fingertips brushed against his figure._

Shattered again, Eragon, barely alive, lay on the ground, surrounded by a puddle of his blood. Tears dripped down his cheek, their fat droplets diluting the dark red liquid on the floor. His eyelids, screamed shut in torturous sleep, concealed the wild motion of his dark eyes, seeking the one he had lost. He would never find her, never.

Arya had knelt beside him, desperately channelling energy into his failing body, desperately shaking his thin form, desperate to get him to breathe, to get him live.

_Afraid, for the first time in many centuries, the Ra zac tore Saphira body apart. They sunk their swords and spears deep into her muscle and organs. They stripped away her scales and shin to check and double check the possibility of more of such terrors. Saphira would have been glad that they feared her even after her death. Once, assured of her utter destruction, they burned her body and scattered the scales that once adorned his beautiful dragon._

_Eragon gazed silently upon the embers and ashes of his joy. The four words he was going to tell her hung onto his tongue…maybe, through all the smoke and fire, she would hear him, but she was dead, his words were now rendered void, but yet, he still tilted his head up at the great plumes of smoke and said:_

"_You were my happiness."_

_And, as if in response, a sparkle of joy unquenched descended upon him: Saphira had found a way back to him. Clenching his shaking hand around her scale, Eragon closed his eyes and promised that he, for her sake, would not fail the riders._

_The scale was broken now, like her hearts of hearts, like his spirit. His life, his past, crumbled like an ancient keep, too long ago to remember…_

_He opened his eyes, and found himself on the grassy banks of the Ramr River. Looking to the right, he saw, as he remembered, Arya and himself conversing together. In the background, a slow tune, filled with a complexity that tempted his curiosity, sung for him to join, to be lost in its mysteries: an elven mind._

_What? Why was he remembering this place? There was nothing dangerous here, no, there would not be, this was a memory, but why would his mind bring him here? That melody, he had never heard it before, nevertheless it plucked at the strings of familiarity, like he could have named this song…_

"_Eragon," her whisper instantly stilled the memory. The light breeze dispersed, the noise ceased, and the apparitions froze, their mouths and expressions stuck halfway in their words and gestures. The beautiful melody, however, continued to weave around his mind. He was in her mind._

"_Arya," his voice croaked and splintered, like jarring notes played out of place._

_She glided towards him, the melody strengthened as she got closer, it was warm, inviting, enveloping his mind with care and concern._

Eragon's back arched painfully, as his limbs jerked and thrashed into life. His heart's irregular beat rushed through his bloodstream and sent an excruciating pulse into his mind. His closed eyes clenched again, as magic coursed around his body, and his wounds returned to scars, scars that would take a long time to heal. His eyes fluttered open.

Arya's eyes were scrunched closed and creases of agony were evident on her flawless face, she was gripping the bed frame with white knuckles and breaths came as erratically as his own. She was still in his mind, shielding him from most of the pain.

Eragon felt guilt clutch his shrivelled heart at the sight. She shouldn't be bearing his pain. She had gone through enough at Durza's hand, and for his burden to weigh her down, that was _wrong_. He was nothing now, he was worth nothing, but for nothing to create so much distress to the one that meant the most to him, he would rather die.

"No." Arya was gazing at him, her emerald eyes glazed over with pain. "You are much more, so much more." "Do not lose hope, Brom found his happiness, I am certain you will too, in time."

"Arya, please, this is something I must carry alone, my happiness is founded upon yours." His tone was pleading, begging, she had reduced him to a servant with her pain, and her servant he would willingly be to see her happy and lively again.

A shaky smile emerged from her elegant face. "You cannot bear it alone, Eragon." She was assuring, comforting, gently guiding him back, back towards peace. "Bear it with me-

"I could never-

"Eragon." His gaze dropped, ashamed.

She grasped his hand and smiled.

"Eragon, we can struggle through it together, the three of us, Firnen will be glad to help," she whispered.

He whispered back:

"Yes"

**Is Arya OOC? Review Please.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

**50 years later**

Memories, coated in heavy dreams swirled about in Eragon's mind as he slept. Memories of pain, of despair, torture...loss.

_His eyesight flashed red and his eyelids dribbled blood- _

Swirls of memories, colliding...

_His right arm, his good arm, was forced straight and something searing, sticky, was pouring-_

Changing...

_A miserable drizzle descended upon them, then-_

Receding, a touch of mind...

_Eragon, I am with you, Saphira is outside, rest, there are still many hours till dawn._

A hand touched his cheek, and then trailed down with the softest of pressure, to his chest, where the powerful thumping finally eased.

Memories, so little, so precious, flittered across his mind in his slumber. Memories so full of happiness reached into his soul, and lit it up again. Those beacon of joy...

_They were laughing, at peace as they ambled down the hillside-_

Of hope...

_A comforting hand on his shoulder-_

Even, of love...

_Hands, grasping each other, swayed in union as together their owners strolled towards home-_

Eragon woke, with the same hand over his own, the same reassuring mind interconnected with his. He turned his head to the window, where he could see Saphira and her father, Firnen, gliding majestically over the lush forests.

His Saphira should have been here, to see her daughter. It would make her glad.

But she wasn't. She was still out there, rotting, shattered, alone, as he was alone.

_Eragon_

His features lifted as he turned around, Arya was gazing at him with an expression mixed with both joy and sadness.

"Still?" The melancholy of her tone infringing upon his bright morning.

He leaned over her neck, and rested his cheek upon hers, breathing out as her arms wrapped around his scarred body.

"Still".

"You are not alone, Eragon. We are together now, with Saphira and Firnen. Never forget that." Her arms tightened just a little and her hands left trails of warmth down his back, slowly at the scars that would never fade. He smiled.

No, he was not alone.

Far, far, away, a dragon soaring between planets and suns looked down, the deep sapphire sparkle of her body twisting as her bright eyes gazed down upon the tiny worlds below. She saw her little one, and smiled.

**Finished? Too Rushed? Let me know by reviewing. Anyway, let me know if you want a sequel.**


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